


hands coated in oil

by apostolosian (mercutioes)



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blindfolds, Bondage, Doin' It For The Pattern, M/M, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Strap-Ons, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/pseuds/apostolosian
Summary: A pattern for the indexing of an unknown tongue:An hour of anticipation culminating in its breakingHands coated in oilAn exchangeThree purple scarvesThirteen sheaves of paper with ink spilled on each pageAnd a sense, deprived.





	hands coated in oil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aubades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubades/gifts).



_ A pattern for the indexing of an unknown tongue: _

_ An hour of anticipation culminating in its breaking _ __   
_ Hands coated in oil _ __   
_ An exchange _ __   
_ Three purple scarves _ __   
_ Thirteen sheaves of paper with ink spilled on each page _ _   
_ __ And a sense, deprived.

“Man,” Devar complains, flopping back on the bed next to Lem, “like, I really need this novel translated but this recipe’s even vaguer than normal.”

Devar watches Lem read the pattern over again, tilting his head like that’ll help him make any more sense of it.

“And there are no other patterns that fit?” he asks, biting his lip.  It’s distracting.

“Nah,” Devar replies, quickly closing his eyes in case Lem catches him looking.  “Some of ‘em will just straight up translate the book but this is the only one that’ll actually make me an organized lexicon.”  He cracks an eye to look at Lem, who’s gone back to staring at the yellowed archival card. “Also, the other ones needed, like, Ordennan seasalt and four pints of blood or whatever and I’m  _ not  _ dealing with that shit for one novel.”

“Well… hm.”  Lem studies the card again, fingers restlessly folding the corners down and smoothing them back.  There’s quiet for a minute before Lem seems to jump, cheeks flushing a deep olive. “Oh! Oh, uh, well.”

“What, dude.”

Lem looks over at him tentatively, biting his lip again.  “I think… I think it could be a — a sex thing?”

“A… sex thing,” echoes Devar dubiously.

“Well, yes,” Lem continues, seeming to power through his embarrassment as he gestures wildly with the card.  “‘Hands coated in oil’ seems kind of self-explanatory, and the purple scarf paired with the deprived sense could be a, a blindfold, and then the ‘hour of anticipation culminating in its breaking’...”  His flush deepens. “Well. You get it.”

Devar’s been watching Lem babble with a kind of glazed look, a sudden rush of images crashing tsunami-like through his traitor brain.  He shakes himself out of it, tries to look as casual as he possibly can and less like he’s having a small crisis.

“Yeah, I get it, dude,” he manages, “but it’s not all that useful since I’d need another person —”

“I could help,” Lem interrupts, a little too quickly, and something fizzes out in Devar’s brain.  They stare at each other for a long moment.

“What.”

“I just mean,” Lem continues, “it sounds like this novel’s really important to your research and I really wouldn’t mind helping out if... you needed…”  Devar takes a couple of deep breaths. Okay.  _ Okay. _

“So just to be clear,” he says, slowly, “you’re saying that you’d let me blindfold you and edge you for a damn hour to complete this pattern.”

Lem sort-of squeaks out an affirmative, which is pretty hilarious coming from a seven-foot-tall orc, but he looks… almost excited, like he’s into the idea (which kind of blows Devar’s mind but in a good way).

“Okay,” Devar repeats, “then… swing by tomorrow?  And we can, uh, do the thing.”

“Sure,” Lem says, standing and hoisting his bag onto his shoulder.  He’s moving gingerly, like maybe… huh. Devar’s not gonna judge while he’s currently dealing with a similar (albeit less noticeable) problem.

Lem shuts the door behind him and Devar flops back on the bed, releasing a long breath.

Well.  Guess he’s got shit to prepare.

  
  


Which brings him to now, with Lem laying blindfolded and in only his underwear on Devar’s bed.  There’s a bottle of oil and the sheaves of ink-soaked paper on the table near the bed.

“Comfy?” Devar asks, double checking the pattern card to give himself something to do.

“Yeah,” Lem says, a little breathless, hands fidgeting in his lap.  Devar swallows hard.

“Okay, then we should be good,” Devar says, grateful that his voice doesn’t shake.  “Except... I still have two scarves left — any ideas?”

“You could tie my hands?” Lem suggests.  Devar swallows harder.

“Sounds good,” he replies.  He ties the scarves quickly, one around each wrist and then to the headboard.  “Too tight?”

“No, it’s… good.”

“Okay so,” Devar says, leaning back, “I set a timer for an hour so I guess… you ready?”

“Yep!  Yep, extremely ready, totally prepared and ready to go and —  _ mm! _ ”

Devar cuts off Lem’s babbling with a kiss.  Lem goes pliant under him, making a small noise into his mouth that’s going to haunt Devar’s dreams for the rest of his life.  He crawls onto Lem’s lap, straddling his hips and taking his face in both palms. Lem tries to speed up the kiss, already so eager, and Devar pulls back.

“Hey, we have a whole hour,” he says, voice embarrassingly rough, “let’s keep it slow, alright?”

“Alright,” Lem breathes.  Devar kisses him lightly this time, barely any pressure at all, running his tongue over Lem’s bottom lip.  Lem shivers once and then again, harder, when Devar ducks his head to press his lips to Lem’s throat — he’s reminded of how goddamn  _ big _ Lem is as he trails down to his shoulders, stretched from the position of his arms.

“ _ God _ , Devar…” Lem’s hands clench above his head when Devar reaches his chest — not even kissing anymore, just running his lips across the expanse of olive skin.  His reactions make Devar bold, his anxiety melting into hunger and an intense desire to see Lem King wrecked out of his damn mind. He runs his lips over Lem’s nipple and Lem jerks, muscles tensing.  Devar quirks an eyebrow even though Lem can’t see it.

“Sensitive?”

“Apparently,” Lem replies, shaky laughter in his voice that trails off into a moaning sigh as Devar laves his tongue over it, eyes fixed on Lem’s face.  His lips have gone slack, flush high on his cheeks. He ventures a guess and takes it between his teeth, barely putting any pressure on but Lem’s answering noise is practically sinful.  Devar can feel his dick pressing up under him, rubbing tantalizingly close to Devar’s own dick. He flicks his tongue against the bud trapped between his teeth and Lem almost chokes.

“ _ Really _ sensitive, apparently,” Devar says, a little taunting but that seems to do it for Lem, too.

“Please don’t stop,” he begs, “Devar, please, just — your  _ mouth _ —”

“Yeah, I got you,” Devar murmurs, bending to suck Lem’s nipple into his mouth, hand coming up to roll the other between his fingers.  Lem arches up under him, babbling mindlessly, head thrown back and throat exposed. Devar’s tempted to shove something in Lem’s mouth to shut him up but, honestly, he’s got a pretty voice and it sounds even prettier when he’s begging for Devar’s lips.

He takes his time because he  _ can _ , and when he looks over at the timer he realizes that he’s spent almost a full fifteen minutes just playing with Lem’s nipples, drawing as many sounds out of him as he can manage.  He kisses slowly back up, leaving marks at Lem’s collarbones and up his throat before catching his lips again. His dick is pressing up pretty insistently against Devar’s ass and he grinds down experimentally, grinning when Lem bucks up and whines into his mouth.

“We should probably get to the whole ‘hands coated in oil’ thing, huh,” Devar says, leaning back and looking over Lem — his flush has migrated all the way down to his chest.  It’s unfairly cute.

“Yeah, probably,” Lem says, breathless.  Devar tweaks a nipple just to hear Lem curse before clambering off the bed and over to the table where he snags the bottle of oil, setting it carefully at the end of the mattress where it won’t spill.  He has to pace this carefully — if either of them get too impatient then the whole thing will have been worthless.

Also, who knows when he’s gonna have this chance again.  He plans to take full advantage.

Devar lets Lem squirm in the dark for another moment before he bends and runs his lips lightly over the bulge in Lem’s underwear.  It takes him by surprise, makes him arch up and grip tightly at the headboard and breathe a jumbled mess of words halfway between a curse and a plea.  Spurred on, Devan runs his tongue up the length of Lem’s dick to the crown where a wet spot has already formed — Lem’s noise when he sucks the head into his mouth through the soaked fabric is strangled and desperate.  Devar wants to hear more so he keeps going, tonguing and sucking until the fabric’s almost translucent with precome and spit, digging his nails into Lem’s thigh or reaching up to tug a nipple between his fingers. The blindfold makes Devar bolder than he’d be otherwise — he doesn’t have to mask his reactions to how hot it is when Lem’s hips hitch up into his hands with a whine.

“Devar,” Lem gasps, tugging at the scarves above his head, legs jerking, “Devar, please, I’m so close, I —”

He keens when Devar pulls back entirely, leaving him desperate for any touch to ground him without use of his sight.

“Not yet,” Devar soothes, running palms down Lem’s shaking thighs.  “We still have forty minutes of anticipation and we haven’t even gotten to the oil yet.”

“God, okay.”  Lem’s taking great heaving breaths, clearly trying to get himself back under control.  Devar crawls back up the bed, kisses him slowly, not too deep. Lem’s making these little whining noises into his mouth and Devar’s suddenly achingly aware of how soaked he is himself, how good a few fingers would feel on his dick or filling him up.  But it’s not about him right now — getting himself off isn’t part of the pattern. It doesn’t stop him from grinding down a little on Lem’s thigh as they kiss, chasing the blunt pleasure through the layers of fabric.

When Lem’s breathing calms, Devar slips his underwear down his thighs, tossing them onto the pile of Lem’s clothes on the floor before removing his own.  Lem’s dick is flushed, straining against his stomach, dripping precome. Devar swallows hard as he slides a cushion under Lem’s hips and then snags the oil from the end of the bed.  He pops the lid and coats his fingers before pausing.

“Do you think I actually have to coat my whole hand?” he asks Lem.

“I suppose so,” Lem replies, shaky, “just to be safe.”

Devar shrugs and pours most of the bottle into his palm, covering his hands down to the wrist in a thin, glistening sheen of oil.  He nudges at Lem’s knee with an elbow.

“Spread for me?” he asks.  Lem bites his lip as he complies, feet planted flat on the mattress.  “Okay, you good?” Lem nods, lip still caught and turning a deep, swollen olive from his teeth digging into the skin.

Devar starts slow, rubbing slow circles around Lem’s entrance with his thumb to spread the oil.  Lem tilts his head back, throat working and stomach tense. Devar meets resistance almost immediately, only able to get the tip of his thumb into him.

“Relax, man,” he says, pressing his lips to Lem’s knee.  “Just breathe.”

“I — I’m trying, Devar, I don’t know —”

“Shh,” Devar soothes, going back to rubbing slow circles around his rim.  “Trust me, okay?”

“Okay,” Lem manages, letting his legs fall open just a fraction more.  Devar kisses his knee once more before he leans down to take the head of Lem’s dick in his mouth.  Lem curses, hips jerking as Devar sucks him steadily, thumb still just rubbing circles around his entrance.  He’s halfway to coming when Devar leans back again. Lem sags into the bed, panting, and the momentary relaxation is enough for Devar to slide his thumb into Lem.

“There you go,” he murmurs, kissing Lem’s hip.  “Good.”

From there, it’s easy to slip his thumb out and replace it with a finger, then two.  He fucks Lem slowly, unfaltering in his rhythm, savoring the clench and flutter of muscles around him.  Agonizing minutes tick by — Devar curls his fingers, probes until he finds the place inside Lem that makes him jerk and swear sharply, fingers spasming.  He builds Lem up and back down in an endless cycle, working his prostate and his dick until he’s begging and then letting go and fucking him again. Sometimes he’ll still his fingers entirely, leaning down to slowly drag his tongue over the swollen skin of Lem’s rim.

Lem’s desperation heightens, his words growing more slurred and jumbled.  His dick is flushed an angry dark olive, dripping precome. He’s got three fingers in him now and Lem’s loose and open and slick.  Devar licks a languid trail up Lem’s cock, reaching up to roll a nipple between his oiled fingers as he does. Lem whines — the blindfold looks damp, though whether it’s sweat or tears, Devar isn’t sure.

“ _ Fuck _ , Devar, I can’t go much longer, how much time…?”  Devar glances at the timer, thrusting his fingers into Lem at a leisurely pace.

“We’re ten minutes out,” he reports, looking up at Lem’s flushed face.  “What do you think — can you hold off for that long if I’m fucking you?”

“Yes,  _ please _ , whatever you want,” Lem breathes, and  _ fuck. _  It’s an intoxicating thought, getting to do whatever he wants to Lem King.  He presses a last kiss to the slick head of Lem’s cock and pulls his fingers out so he can retrieve the harness he left at the foot of the bed before they began.  Lem whines again at the loss of his fingers, squirming in his restraints. Devar glances up at his wrists — there’ll be bruises tomorrow, that’s for sure. He takes guilty satisfaction at the thought of leaving Lem so marked up.

He settles his cock on his hips, tightening the last straps and positioning himself between Lem’s legs.  But, he realizes, Lem’s so big that this angle isn’t going to work, not easily. He considers, running his hands up Lem’s thighs.

“Devar?” asks Lem, and he remembers that Lem’s trapped in the dark and must be wondering why he’s waiting.

“I can’t fuck you like this,” he replies, “I need you on your hands and knees.  That okay?”

“ _ Shit _ ,” Lem pants, “yeah, yes, that’s — mm, that’s extremely okay.”  Devar laughs, leaning up to untie the scarves from the headboard (but keeping them tied around Lem’s wrists — better safe than sorry with a pattern like this).  The blindfold stays on, so Devar guides him over and up onto all fours. He’s flushed down his shoulders, almost to the dimples at the small of his back. Devar’s pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life.

“Okay,” he says, partially to warn Lem and partially to reassure himself.  He slips two fingers into Lem to make sure he’s still open enough, biting his lip at the way Lem drops to his forearms and buries his face in the pillow, muffling his whine.

As fast as he possibly can with still-slippery hands, he pulls his fingers free, lines himself up, and pushes inside Lem with a low groan.  The harness rubs insistently at his slick cock, his arousal dripping down his thighs as he fucks Lem as hard as he’s wanted to for the past fifty minutes.

Time passes in a haze, hips snapping and Lem’s small broken noises that get progressively thinner and louder as the minutes slip by them.  Devar keeps an eye on the timer even as he chases his own pleasure — the combination of the strap between his labia and the impact every time he fucks into Lem, Devar’s getting closer and closer to shaking apart.  Lem’s more than desperate now, cock hanging heavy between his legs and an endless stream of pleas muffled in the pillow.

“Almost done,” Devar pants, gripping Lem’s hips tightly.  “Just another minute, just hold on... what do you want, what can I —?”

“Pull — pull my hair, please,” Lem whines, turning his head so he’s audible, and Devar about loses it right there.  He glances over at the timer once more, the seconds counting down… just half a minute more, as he wraps a hand around Lem’s ponytail and  _ pulls _ , just fifteen seconds as he drags his nails down Lem’s back, just three, two, one…

“Time’s up,” Devar gasps.

All it takes is Devar’s hand around Lem’s dick and a few more thrusts and Lem’s practically shouting as he spills all over the sheets, coming for what feels like minutes.  Devar keeps fucking him as he comes — the harness is rubbing his cock at just the right angle and he’s close too, it’ll just take a little more —

He doubles over as he peaks, pressing himself against the curve of Lem’s back as he rides out the waves of pleasure.  Lem’s still panting, his back rising and falling heavily. Devar pulls out of him gingerly, unstrapping the harness and tossing it off the side of the bed.

He guides Lem to flip over, untying the scarves and slowly inching the blindfold off Lem’s face so as not to overwhelm him with light.  Once that’s done, Devar flops over next to Lem on the bed, both of them breathing heavily.

“Wow, that was… wow.  Well?” croaks Lem, finally.  Devar turns to look at him, hope curling in his chest.

“Well, what?”

“Did it work?”  Devar curses his traitor brain again, of  _ course _ he’s talking about the pattern.  With a groan, he forces himself up and out of bed to check the pages — sure enough, instead of ink-stained paper there are rows and rows of words, a fully-indexed lexicon for the novel.  Relief washes through him.

“Yeah, it worked.”  He immediately flops back on the bed, limbs still a bit jelly.  He looks up at Lem. “Hey, uh, thanks. For this.”

“Anytime, happy to help,” Lem says, a little too quickly.  Devar focuses his gaze on the ceiling instead.

“Man, what does that  _ mean _ ?” he asks, rubbing a hand over his eyes.  “Like, ‘happy to help a friend with a project’ or ‘I really liked it, we should do it again’?”  There’s a long silence wherein Devar’s sure he’s fucked everything up forever before Lem speaks.

“Can… can it be both?”

Devar props himself up on one elbow to stare at Lem properly.  He’s averted his eyes, still flushed. Devar groans in exasperation.

“ _ Really, _ man?” he huffs before leaning down to kiss him.  Lem makes a surprised noise into his mouth, kissing back with as much fervor as he can while this freshly-fucked.  Devar pulls back to gaze at Lem who’s looking slightly dazed.

“Next time, less oil,” he says, grinning.  Lem laughs weakly.

“Yeah,” he agrees.  “Maybe less oil.”

**Author's Note:**

> contact me @mercutioes or on discord if you'd like your own fic! you can also find my ko-fi at ko-fi.com/mercutioes


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